


Merrythought

by The Hag (hagsrus)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Older Lads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-26
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-22 12:50:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/609999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hagsrus/pseuds/The%20Hag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lads at Christmas, then and now. More or less the same universe as last year's story Crackers.</p>
<p>Dec 2012</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merrythought

*Christmas 1983*

"Pull?"

"It's kind of mucky." Bodie regarded with distaste the turkey wishbone Doyle had been gnawing, the last remnant of the picnic lunch of leftovers from an early Christmas dinner they'd brought along to cheer them up on this dreary obbo.

"All right," Doyle said amiably and fished out his handkerchief. "Merrythought, my Nan used to call it. Said it was the old word her granny told her." He scrubbed at the bone and stuffed the worse-for-wear handkerchief back in his pocket. "What? Rita's had worse than this to get clean. Remember last month when we--"

"Merrythought?" Bodie reluctantly wrapped his little finger around the bone.

"She said it wasn't wishing in the old days. The one who got the long piece was going to get married first."

"What if they were already married?"

"Well... perhaps that's why they changed it to wishes."

"Wish to not get married?"

"There's always that." Doyle grinned and curled his own finger into position. "Ready?"

The wishbone parted.

"Well, bugger me!" Bodie stared in disbelief at his half of the bone, a mirror image of Doyle's. "Clean split right down. Never seen that before. Did you gimmick it?"

"Wouldn't know how." Doyle peered at the bone and shrugged. "I suppose that means we both get a wish. Was that yours, then?"

"What?"

"Bug--"

"Oh. Well, all right, when we get home. What's yours? If it's to bugger me it's a bit redundant. Here, get rid of this."

Doyle took Bodie's half of the bone and fitted the split ends together. "If it's the merrythought I suppose we'd both get married the same time."

"Who'd have us?"

"We would."

"Not going to happen in our lifetime, sunshine. Cowley looked like he was sucking lemons for a week when we told him, and he's hardly a bigot. Don't see the establishment going all sweetness and light."

"Just a gaythought," said Doyle and wrapped the bones in his much-abused handkerchief. He'd have to remember to throw them out or poor old Rita would have a fit.

He made his private wish.

 

*Christmas 2012*

"You think they'll get the marriage bill through next year?" Bodie asked doubtfully.

"Sooner or later. Never thought it would be a Tory prime minister pushing it, though." Doyle administered an admonitory tap to the feline nose attempting to sniff the wishbone he was chewing.

"You remember that time when we pulled one of those and it split right clean down the middle?"

"Vaguely," said Doyle, to whom the memory was perfectly clear. "Want to see how this one works?"

"Anyway," Bodie said, "we've got our civil partnership all signed and sealed. Nice and dignified and *private*."

"Pull? Get off, Pollux!"

"Better pull it with the cats," Bodie said. "They don't mind the mess. Anyway, not much left to wish for."

"Health? Arthritis cure? New Labour government?"

"Sod that! Last one was bad enough." He held up a silencing hand. "Come on, we agreed no politics till the end of the year. Peace at home if nowhere else."

Doyle grunted, reluctantly conceding the point but mentally lining up his arguments for New Year's Day. First thing...well, perhaps second thing if their libidinous luck was in....

"Come on, then." Bodie yielded. "Give us the foul object." He came up with the long piece. "Don't know about getting married, but I wish you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year. Now I'll go and dump this in the rubbish and have a wash."

"Make sure the bin lid's on good and tight."

"Yeah, yeah. Nag nag nag."

Doyle watched affectionately as he headed for the kitchen, trailed by Castor and Pollux conveying their own unmistakable wishes.

He wouldn't push it, supposing the bill succeeded. He suspected that silence would provoke Bodie into popping the question, if only to end the suspense. Then he could wind him up by saying no. Perhaps.

He ran a fond thumb over the platinum ring on his left hand. 

There was a clatter in the kitchen and Bodie's voice rose in bitter excoriation of the whole feline race.

"That's marriage for you," Doyle said aloud, and went to sort them out.


End file.
